


Push It Down

by writerchick0214



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 15:26:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerchick0214/pseuds/writerchick0214
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for TWD Kninkmeme: I would assume that Daryl's still feeling the effects of his tumble down the hill and getting jabbed in the side while going through the events of the s2 finale. I'd love to see something where, in all the mayhem, running around, shooting, Carol holding onto him on the bike (which probably hurt like a bitch), he pops some stitches. His side is bleeding throughout everything but he doesn't say anything 'cause he doesn't want to be a burden. But then he collapses in camp. Anyone (Rick, Carol...) or all to his rescue.<br/>Currently gen but will most likely become a Rick/Daryl story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Chapter One

 

Everything was chaos; people were screaming, walkers were everywhere and the barn was on fire. Crossbow in hand Daryl ran as fast as he could to his motorcycle, barely noticing the way his stitches pulled painfully at his left side. The others were behind him in their own vehicles but he ignored them focusing solely on the roar of his bike and the task at hand: kill as many of those undead mother fuckers as possible and get out alive. Because Merle was larger than him the reach for the handlebars was always slightly uncomfortable but when he gripped the rubber handles Daryl felt something warm coating his skin and a dull ache begin to take over his abdomen. When a walker appeared in front of him Daryl had no further time to contemplate his pain, instead he shouldered his crossbow and wielded a handgun, shooting the geek right between the eyes. 

Daryl drove a relatively safe distance away from the horde of geeks, balanced the bike and stood to take aim. His aim was still perfect even though his crossbow was currently benched, echoes of the others shooting pounding in Daryl’s ears. Over the strange buzzing in his ears Daryl could hear Lori screaming about something, probably Carl, and he chanced a look around to see if he could spot the dumb kid. A growl to his right had Daryl jerking quickly and it was only after the walker was on the ground that he recognized the searing pain in his side as the telltale sign of torn stitches. He didn’t have time to truly evaluate the damage but when he slipped a hand under his shirt Daryl’s hand came away bloody. The redneck cursed to himself and reloaded, trying not to pay attention to the way his hands shook. He clenched them once, twice, and the shaking stopped but it took all of Daryl’s willpower to shoot accurately. 

When Daryl saw the others begin to drive off he decided it was as good a time as any to make his hasty escape. He kicked the bike back to life, the low rumble relaxing and reassuring, and drove off stopping only when he was far enough away from the battleground to not be seen by any stray walkers. He stood there, bike balanced between his legs and watched the place they had considered a safe haven crumble to nothing but a nightmare. The fire from the barn would probably spread and the walkers would most likely remain there for some time making it impossible to return. Daryl was just about to turn around and make his way back to where they left supplies for Sophia when he heard screaming; desperate, pleading familiar screaming. So Daryl went towards the pleas to find Carol running halfheartedly away from a group of geeks following her. The woman looked exhausted, her step uneven and her face covered in sweat. When she saw Daryl she looked as though she has seen an angel. 

“Come on, I ain’t got all day!” Daryl barked as Carol clumsily sat behind him on the bike. 

As soon as she put her arms around his waist Daryl felt the air leave his lungs. The pressure was almost too much to handle and the ache in his whole upper body was back full force but he pushed the pain down and away and kept moving. The upward stretch of his arm was excruciating but with an extra passenger on the bike Daryl didn’t dare ride one-handed so he grit his teeth and focused on the road. It was dawn and the roads were foggy, navigating was proving to be difficult especially when they came upon a small gathering of geeks. Instead of trying to kill them Daryl rode around the rotting bodies, kicking out his left leg when he had to make a sharp turn. The motion pulled his entire left side and he grunted in pain, grateful for the noise of the motorcycle to hide his discomfort from Carol. He didn’t need anyone worrying about him at a time like this. 

Up ahead Daryl saw tail lights weaving about on the road and pushed forward to see who it was. Once he was even with the driver’s side window Daryl was pleased to see a shaken up but grinning Glenn looking at him and pointing forward. Daryl took the lead, almost happy when he heard another vehicle pull up behind Glenn and Maggie. They rode over a particularly nasty bump which made Carol tighten her arms so much Daryl couldn’t help the yelp that escaped his lips. Carol loosened her hold, obviously she had heard him, and peeked her head forward to look at Daryl’s face. Daryl turned his head away from her searching eyes and willed his body to relax. Finally their destination was in sight and Carol was off the bike before he even had a chance to turn it off. Daryl took a moment to regain his composure, taking a few deep breaths and focusing on anything but the pain. 

“Where’d you find everyone?” He heard Rick ask. His voice was kind of hazy.

“He had his taillights zigzagging all over the road. Figured he had to be Asian driving like that.” Daryl nodded his head at Glenn attempting to use humor to distract from the blood he felt slowly caking his side. 

“Good one,” Glenn said, smile wide and bright. 

Daryl stopped listening after that. He excused himself claiming to need to piss but as soon as he was out of sight Daryl pulled his shirt up and saw his entire torso soaked in blood. The stitches were nonexistent at that point and his wound was open and ugly. Hastily Daryl took his vest and jacket off, tossing it on the leafy ground. With practiced ease Daryl used his buck knife to cut the sleeves from his shirt, tying them together to wrap around his stomach and act as a makeshift bandage. It wasn’t perfect, nor was it sanitary but for now it would do. Someone called his name, probably Rick, and when he put his jacket back on he walked back to camp acting as though nothing was wrong. Rick pulled him to the side speaking in hushed tones but Daryl was only picking up about every other word. Everything was fading in and out and Daryl had to shake his head to clear the cobwebs. 

“You alright?” Rick asked at the uncharacteristic motion. 

“‘M fine,” Daryl insisted. He could see Carol looking down at her arms and back at him.


	2. Chapter Two

Push It Down prt 2

Daryl stayed at the edge of the group that night waiting for a good time to sneak off and stitch himself back up again. He already swiped a small sewing kit from a backpack in the Kia and had half a flask of Johnny Walker left in the satchel on the bike. It would be painful and sloppy and most likely scar but he’d stitched himself up on more than one occasion and another impromptu sew job wouldn’t hurt. The others sat crowded together, quiet or in tears, everyone mourning the loss of their loved ones; Patricia, Jimmy, Shane and Andrea were all gone. Daryl didn’t particularly care about Jimmy or Patricia and the thought of Shane finally being out of the picture brought a smirk to his face but Andrea’s death left a strange, hollow feeling in the pit of his gut. 

The world tilted around him and Daryl had to reach a hand out to brace himself on the rock wall in front of him. Breakfast was rolling around uncomfortably in his stomach and when he felt the burn all the way in his nostrils Daryl had to swallow the urge to vomit all over T-Dog’s bald head that was almost directly to his right. Daryl’s vision went in and out, greying around the edges and it felt as though he was in a dream, all the sounds around him blurring together and roaring in his ears. Sweat beaded at his hairline even though the nights were getting colder with every day that passed, his whole body clammy and holy shit when did he start shivering? 

“Daryl?” Rick barked sharply at him and Daryl opened his eyes-when had he closed them?-to find everyone staring at him. 

“What?” Daryl barely recognized his own voice. 

“I asked you a question.” Rick quirked an eyebrow. “Are you alright?”

“‘M fine.” Daryl scrubbed his face. “What’d you ask?” 

“We’re trying to figure out where to go next. I asked if you had any ideas.”

“We shouldn’t stay here, that’s for sure.” Daryl was sure he was slurring his words but so far no one said anything about it. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “Find somewhere to settle for the winter.” 

“Maybe head west?” Glenn suggested, pulling Maggie closer to his body. 

“I was thinking maybe the coast.” Rick ran his hand through Carl’s hair.

“You want my honest opinion?” Daryl asked. He had to breathe through his nose slowly to keep his stomach settled. “We should wait it out, gather supplies, and go back to the farm.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” T-Dog stood and spun around to face Daryl. “We lost people there! Do you really want to drag everyone back to that hell?”

“I think it’s our best bet.” Daryl didn’t feel like dealing with this right now. His side burned momentarily and when Daryl looked down he saw a single drop of blood on his boot. “Fortify the perimeter, be better prepared this time. If the barn didn’t burn the house down there’s a future for us there.”

“He’s right.” It was Carol who spoke up. Carol who saw her only child shot between the eyes at that very farm. “We’re safer there than on the road. Safer there than chasing a dream.”

“Let’s all think about it tonight. In the morning we take a vote.” Rick Grimes to the rescue. Daryl couldn’t help the soft snort that escaped. 

“We done here?” Daryl needed to get away and he needed to get away now.

“Yeah.” Rick was about to sick when he stared at Daryl for a long moment. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“You ask me again yer gonna find my boot up yer ass.” And the others kind of gasped and followed him with their eyes as he walked away, rolling his shoulders. 

Swiping a pocket-sized flashlight from the toolbox in the truck bed Daryl stalked far enough away to not be seen, kneeling on the ground behind a cluster of bushes. When he peeled off his shirt he couldn’t help the low moan, breathing through clenched teeth when the fabric got stuck to dried blood. The old arrow wound was still oozing and was an angry red around the edges. It wasn’t life-threateningly infected yet but Daryl was sure it was only a matter of time. He tucked the flashlight under his chin in a sad attempt to get some light. 

It was weak and didn’t quite give him the range he really needed but it was all he had. The flask rattled in his shaking hands and Daryl had to try more than once to open it, the metal cap clanking against the side with every tremor of his body. Without hesitation the redneck splashed the wound, holding his breath against the sting. But it was more than a sting; the liquor scorched his whole body and Daryl was sure he was on fire. When he tasted blood in his mouth Daryl spit, his tongue sore and tore his belt off as quickly as possible. He took a long swallow of the Johnny Walker and scolded himself for being such a pussy.

With the leather strap firmly between his teeth Daryl threaded a needle with purple-fuckin’ purple-thread, dousing the sharp piece of metal with the booze, mentally cursing himself for not bringing a lighter. The first touch of needle against skin was enough to make Daryl gag, body lurching forward so his forehead was almost touching the dirt below him. He closed his eyes, willing the pain away. Push it down, Daryl told himself. When he sat up again he pushed the needle through, pulling the thread tight, and went back again. Over and over he did this until the hole in his body was securely closed. Tearing the string with his teeth Daryl felt a brief moment of triumph before he realized he still had to stitch up the other side of the wound. How the hell was he going to reach his back?

Daryl twisted and turned attempting to find a good angle but there wasn’t one to be found. His whole body was covered in sweat by now, running down his chest and back, dripping into his eyes and blinding him. The heat radiating from his skin was more frustrating than the pain he felt and Daryl yelled out angrily, the sound muffled by the belt clenched in his mouth. With a deep, steadying breath Daryl tried to calm enough to think but the heartbeat in his ears was distracting. He twitched, huffing a breath out through his nose and blinked against the stinging in his eyes. Daryl poured more alcohol onto his back, then the needle, and after forcing his hands to stop trembling Daryl began sewing. This time around his handiwork was much messier and he wasn’t sure if he had even patched up the whole thing. 

Daryl drank the rest of the Johnny Walker without stopping, some of the amber liquid dribbling out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin. He spluttered, coughing, and stumbled where he sat. The worst part was over but his entire being ached, the energy needed to stand again seeming like wishful thinking so he stayed like that, eyes closing of their own accord and before he could stop himself he drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep with his head propped against a tree. Daryl wasn’t sure how long he stayed there but he jerked awake at the sound of someone approaching. His tongue was like sandpaper in his mouth and it felt like someone had shoved cotton balls in his ears. Despite this Daryl pulled his jacket and vest back on, tossing the rumpled, blood-stained shirt into the bushes. He stood just before Rick was upon him, brows knitted together with concern, blue eyes taking his body in.

“Been looking for you for a while.Carol was worried.” Was all Rick said, standing with his arms at his sides. 

“Been right here.” Daryl cracked his neck.

“Was wondering if you and I could talk.” Rick questioned, all of a sudden looking incomprehensibly nervous. Daryl nodded.

“Where are the others?” He looked around waiting for Glenn and T-Dog to make an appearance. 

“Back at camp. I was hoping we could be-alone.” The way he said it made Daryl quirk his head to the side. 

Rick started walking then, not waiting for Daryl to follow but the hunter did anyways. The first step he took caused a whole new kind of pain to jolt through his body and he stopped, body freezing and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, stuck in his throat. Push it down, Daryl told himself again. With that he sucked it up and went after Rick who didn’t seem to notice the way Daryl walked with a slight limp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own. All rights go to Robert Kirkman, Frank Darabont, and all others involved. 
> 
> Don’t worry…Daryl’s suffering isn’t over yet ha. Oh. And I haven’t forgotten about Andrea. But fair warning: I’ve never read the graphic novel (I know, shame on me!) so I won’t have Michonne, the Governor or the prison in this. I just don’t want to write about things I know nothing about.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness but next chapter is full of all sorts of craziness!!

Daryl watched Rick pace-back and forth, back and forth-remaining silent and huddling in on himself while he leaned against a tree. His skin was buzzing, overstimulated and tired, the painful fog coming back to cloud his vision. It took everything Daryl had to remain standing and focused on Rick, silently willing the other man to hurry up and talk so he could go curl up and sleep. Finally Rick stopped and moved closer so they could see each other better in the darkness. He was breathing fast and his blue eyes were wide, Daryl thought he looked frightened.  
“I need to tell you something but you can’t tell anyone.”  
“Alright,” Daryl said and shrugged his shoulders. He would have rolled his eyes if he had the energy.  
“This is serious, Daryl, I need you to promise me you won’t tell a soul.” Rick’s desperation made Daryl stand up a bit straighter.  
“Whatever, man, I won’t tell no one. Just get on with it.”  
“I killed Shane.”  
What the flying fuck?   
“Excuse me?” Daryl had to ask, had to be sure he had heard that right.  
“I killed Shane. A walker didn’t get him.” Then Rick was pacing again, arms flailing up and down as he attempted to find words.  
“You’re tellin’ me you killed yer best buddy?”   
“God, when you say it like that I sound like a monster!” Rick also sounded like he was on the verge of tears.  
“Never said that.”  
“He was out of control.” Rick was rambling more to himself than Daryl. “Shane was a loose cannon, dead-set on having it his way no matter how many people we lost. Who knows what he would have done. He was dangerous.”  
“Who’re you tryin’ to convince?” Daryl raised an eyebrow even though he knew Rick couldn’t see it.  
“Jesus this is such a mess. What did I do?” Rick looked at him, eyes wild and hair a mess.   
“What had to be done.” Daryl was starting to feel flushed, toes curling in his boots against the dull ache now seeping into his legs. “I didn’t like Shane, figured he’d hurt someone ‘fore long. Keep this to yerself and don’ worry ‘bout it none. What’s done is done and there ain’t no goin’ back.”  
“Right.” Rick looked relieved. “You’re right, I made the right choice.” When he clapped a hand on Daryl’s shoulder the redneck instinctually went to lash out, to extract himself from the touch, but forced himself to accept it. The hand remained there, a warm reminder of how a touch can be kind and Rick’s face was close enough for Daryl to feel his hot breath on his cheek. Daryl was unaccustomed to the sensation, to the gentleness and the general feeling of being needed; because that’s what was happening right now, Rick needed Daryl. He needed Daryl to tell him everything was alright, to reassure he had made the right decision-he wanted Daryl to be the one to say it. Daryl let himself bask in that feeling for only a second before reminding himself that no one wanted Daryl Dixon, that Daryl Dixon was only there out of necessity, to survive.  
“Get some sleep,” Rick finally said, moving away and back to his family. Daryl almost missed his warmth. “You look like hell.”   
Daryl scoffed but didn’t argue because he was sure he must be looking as bad as he felt. He was one of the first people to fall asleep that night, something that rarely every happened, but as soon as Daryl lay his head on the grass he was out, hand resting on his crossbow.   
Everything was cold, too cold. Daryl was shivering from head to foot, teeth chattering together like they used to when he was a kid, hunting with Merle for hours in the middle of the winter. But Daryl wasn’t a child anymore, he had long since grown accustomed to harsh weather extremes and he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so unbelievably freezing. When he tried to open his eyes Daryl found them heavy as though weighted down and his mouth was even drier than it had been the night before. Someone was yelling, hands touching his shoulders and slowly things began to focus more.  
He was lying on the ground in the same position he had fallen asleep in and the sun was bright, sweat covering every inch of his skin but damn if he wasn’t colder than an ice cube. Daryl tried again to pry his eyes open, the light so bright he hissed and batted at whoevers hand was touching him. The yelling increased and Daryl could feel vibrations under him in the dirt, people running no doubt, but before he could put two and two together someone was trying to lift him up. Everything in him protested, his side on fire and Daryl was pretty sure he was yelling at whoever was moving him. Then the hands were gone and the shouting stopped but Daryl could still feel people staring at him as he slumped against the rock wall, the heated stone feeling like heaven on his back.   
“-aryl?” Someone was saying his name. Daryl cracked an eye open and saw Rick’s concerned face mere inches from his own.  
“What’dya want?” Daryl’s words were jumbling together.  
“What’s wrong?”   
“Nothin’s wrong, Grimes, how many times do I got to tell you people? Now get the hell outta my face.” When Daryl reached out to push Rick away his hand missed, swatting at air and Rick exchanged a worried glance with Glenn.   
“Did you get bit?” Rick’s fingers edged along his holster.  
“You serious?” Now Daryl was pissed. He pushed himself up and tried to stand but found his legs shaking under him. Carol reached out to grab him, probably to help him, but Daryl jerked away and literally pulled himself to his feet with the rock wall. Daryl swayed but swiftly steadied himself and was more than a little embarrassed to see everyone looking at him.  
“We just need to be sure, Daryl.” Rick stood too, holding his arms out to stop the others from advancing.   
“Like I’d come to camp bit.” Daryl’s words were unforgiving, spit flying from his mouth. “Fuck all y’all!”   
When Daryl walked away no one stooped him but he missed the way Rick’s eyes followed his every move. 

 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and let me know what you think. I really do appreciate them so, so much!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own. All rights go to Robert Kirkman, Frank Darabont, and all others involved. Obviously that is not me.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO beyond sorry for the long wait! I have had the WORST writer’s block (I know, I know, oldest excuse in the book). I’m hoping to update all of my stories today. Since it’s been so long this is a nice, long chapter (over 2,000 words, which is the longest chapter this story has had yet). I hope you enjoy and I am so grateful for all of you who have been reading and reviewing and are still sticking with me! If I didn’t PM you back to thank you for your review please let me know…I like to talk to everyone but sometimes I miss a person.

Daryl didn’t know how long he walked. It could have been minutes, hours, seconds-everything seemed to be blurring together. His limbs felt heavy and every other step he was tripping over his feet, the ground below him feeling more like Jell-O than dirt and grass. Everything hurt, Daryl realized when he wiped sweat from his brow, even his damn fingernails seemed tender. The sun was unbearably hot and his stomach churned uncomfortably even though Daryl was pretty sure there was nothing left in there to throw up and he was forced to breathe through his nose to keep from being sick. Blearily Daryl kept walking forward, aimlessly trying to get anywhere but the camp and not particularly caring where he wound up. One second Daryl was looking at the tree line and a blink later he was so far into the woods he didn’t know where he was.

A growl only feet away startled Daryl enough to send him stumbling to the ground, pain flaring throughout his whole body. Frantically he shuffled backwards blindly reaching for the buck knife on his belt, fingers gripping the handle in a clumsy hold, his appendages working like a rusty hinge. A male walker with long hair and a beer gut was staggering closer at an alarming speed and Daryl reacted out of panic, kicking out and knocking the geek off its feet. Unfortunately for Daryl the body landed directly on top of his own, its teeth snapping at his bare neck like a vampire from one of those cheesy movies. The redneck would never admit it but he let out a fearful shout, lashing out any way he could in an attempt to throw the heavy body off of him but his stomach was tight and his side was burning with white-hot pain and Daryl only panicked more when his vision began to grey out. 

Everything began to dim around him and Daryl gasped for air, flailing about and crying out for help. It sounded like he was in a wind tunnel, ears ringing almost painfully and even though the walker was right near him it sounded like it was far away. Something was moving off to Daryl’s right and he was sure his death was imminent, a hoard probably drawing near to tear his body limb from limb but he wasn’t going out without a fight no matter how much his body was betraying him with its weakness. Mind over matter, Merle had always told him. Snarling twice as loud as the walker above him Daryl gathered every bit of strength he had to buck up and throw the geek off, bringing the buck knife down in a smooth arc to pierce through the thing’s rotting skull. All movement ceased and Daryl couldn’t help the satisfied, smug smirk that graced his lips. 

The world went black when something heavy fell on him from behind.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh my god,” Someone was repeating over and over again. “Please don’t be dead.”

“Who’s dead?” Daryl asked groggily, opening his eyes a crack.

“Daryl!” Andrea cried. Her face was covered in sweat and mud. 

“What’re you doing here?” Daryl looked around as much as he could, pain spiking through his head every time he turned his neck. He half expected to see Merle lurking around somewhere like when he had fallen down the ravine. 

“Looking for you and the others.” Andrea ran her hands over his body and he couldn’t hide the wince when she brushed over a tender spot. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Yer dead.” Daryl said blinking up at the blond. Nothing was making sense. Andrea began lifting up shit shirt but Daryl shoved her away so hard she fell to her ass, letting out a loud oof when she hit the ground. “Don’ fuckin’ touch me, girlie.” 

“You need help!” Andrea cried. She scrambled back over to his side, peering at him cautiously. 

“Well you ain’t real so you can’t do shit. Just like Merle.” Daryl licked his lips, mouth still terribly dry. What he would give for a sip of water. 

“I have no idea what you’re going on about, Dixon, but I need to get you to the others. Where are they?” Andrea looked around as if she would see them appear out of thin air. 

Daryl looked the other way. “Don’ know, ‘m lost.” 

“Lost?” Andrea asked. “The great Daryl Dixon got lost? Something is definitely wrong with you. Come on, get up.” Andrea placed her hands under Daryl’s shoulders and attempted to push him into a sitting position. Instead the man shouted something that sounded an awful lot like an insult and rolled over to his side and out of her reach. 

“No one cares if I live or not, anyways. Ain’t nothing but redneck trash ‘n you know it.” Daryl was speaking more to himself than Andrea, Merle’s words playing on repeat in his mind. Maybe he was dead and Andrea was here to torture him.

“Are you bit?” Andrea sounded grave, worried. The concern in her voice confused Daryl.

“Ain’t bit.” Daryl closed his eyes against the bright sun and tried to rest, body ready to give. 

“Daryl!” Andrea yelled after a long moment of silence, tapping his shoulder. “I can’t help you if you don’t wake up.” 

“Quit yer yellin’, Barbie, I ain’t sleepin’.” Everything around him was dull, even the pain, and his toes were starting to tingle. 

“What happened to you?” Andrea asked again. She was close enough for Daryl to feel the heat radiating from her body. 

“Nothin’.” 

“Nothing? Oh ok. You look like shit and even I can tell you need help. Which way did you come from?” Daryl pointed in the general direction he thought was correct, closing his eyes.

When he opened them again he was on his feet, unsteadily leaning against Andrea and rambling on about something.

When had they started walking?

“I wish you knew how much we needed you,” Andrea said in response to something, Daryl couldn’t remember what. 

“You don’ need me.” Daryl shook his head which only made him dizzier. “Rick don’ need me.” 

“Rick?” Andrea looked sharply at him. “Who cares if Rick needs you?”

Pause.

“What’re you goin’ on ‘bout?” Daryl asked. He was pretty sure his stitches had popped again. 

“You were talking about Rick.” Andrea shifted so Daryl was leaning more heavily on her, her body quivering with the effort of holding him up. Daryl remained silent. “We’ve been walking for twenty minutes, where are we?”

Twenty minutes? Daryl could only remember five of those. 

“Told you, I got lost.” Daryl tried to move away from Andrea, hated the way their bodies touched and the way her arm felt around his waist. It felt too warm and comfortable; safe. 

“Shit!” Andrea cried when Daryl’s knees buckled under him and he fell. She held him even closer and hefted him up, almost carrying him at that point. If Daryl hadn’t been in so much pain he would have been impressed. 

“Andrea?” Daryl looked at the woman, surprise written all over his face. “What…” 

“Help!” Andrea called, moving faster. There was a clearing ahead and she burst through it. “Rick!” 

The sheriff was already running in their direction, gun in one hand and at the ready. His blue eyes scanned the area for danger as the others followed, Glenn close on his heels. Andrea stopped moving, holding Daryl up the best she could; the man was all muscle despite their limited diet and was heavier than he looked. Daryl saw the others coming and immediately tried to straighten himself, yanking out of Andrea’s grasp. Breathing heavily and clenching his teeth against the onslaught of pain he stood as tall as he could, head held high, ignoring the way Andrea was reaching for him. He took a step forward, hand raised to stop them and mouth open to fire off an insult to keep them at bay but he crumpled, body no longer able to support his own weight. When Daryl’s head hit the ground he was fairly certain someone yelled his name but he couldn’t be certain, the world going black with a loud pop.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
“Daryl!” Rick yelled frantically, rushing forward. Andrea was already on her knees attempting to wake the fallen man. She looked desperately up at Rick, her hands covered in fresh blood and that’s when he saw that Daryl’s jacket was covered in the thick liquid. 

“What happened?” Rick asked as he holstered his gun and knelt beside the blond woman. 

“You’re alive?” T-Dog exclaimed, looking guilty. “I saw you go down.”

“A walker fell on top of me but obviously I’m fine.” Andrea turned her attention back to Rick. “I was in the woods and a walker was on his back. I thought he was infected!” Her hands were shaking. “When he woke up he started talking about me not being real and something about Merle. He was really out of it.”

Rick nodded, acknowledging her while pulling Daryl’s jacket up and away from his body. Daryl’s skin under all the blood was an angry looking red, his veins standing out and the old arrow wound puffy and swollen. He cursed under his breath and wondered how long the other man had been hurting. Rick swiped the back of his hand over his brow and without thinking lifted Daryl bridal style, holding the man close to his body. Daryl was shivering even though he was unconscious and his breathing was labored enough to make Rick extremely concerned. When he began walking back towards their makeshift camp the others followed.

“Glenn?” Rick turned to look at the Asian man. “I need you to run ahead and tell Hershel. This is bad and we need his help.” Glenn nodded and ran off without a response. 

“Is he going to be ok?” Andrea was nearing hysterics. 

“I’m not sure.” Rick responded honestly, hoisting Daryl’s body into a more comfortable position. “Are you ok?” He asked her, taking in her disheveled appearance and ghostly white skin.

“I’m fine.” She dismissed him quickly, eyes never leaving Daryl. “Don’t worry about me, worry about him.” 

“Dad!” Carl cried when Rick neared. “Is that Daryl?” 

“Oh my god!” Carol gasped, hand covering her mouth in shock. 

Rick ignored them and laid Daryl out on the blanket Carl had slept on last night, brushing the man’s hair off his sweat-soaked forehead. Despite Daryl’s shivering the man’s skin was feverish to the touch. Hershel was there in an instant, removing Daryl’s vest and jacket. He didn’t speak while he assessed the damage, fingers prodding here and there, brows furrowing. Maggie handed him a half empty bottle of water without having to be asked for it and when Hershel dumped it on Daryl’s stomach to clear the grime he sighed discouragingly, shaking his head. With the blood and dirt gone Rick could see the old injury was worse than he had initially expected.

“He needs antibiotics,” Hershel said dejectedly. “And a good, thorough cleaning.”

“How bad is it?” Rick asked even though he was afraid to hear the answer. 

“If he doesn’t get antibiotics in his system soon he’s not going to make it.”

Rick stood, determination etched on his face. He knew what he had to do.

“Rick…” Lori was looking defeated. 

“I need to, Lori. You know as well as I do that we can’t lose Daryl.” 

“I’m coming with you.” Glenn stood and ignored the way Maggie looked at him. 

“And where exactly do you two think you’re going?” Lori asked, throwing her hands up in defeat.

“We need to go to town. You heard Hershel, if we don’t find antibiotics then Daryl is as good as dead.”

“The pharmacy is wiped clean.” Maggie pointed out. 

Rick thought for a moment, trying to remember the map he had looked over only days ago.

“There’s another town not too far away.” Rick looked at Glenn. “Think you’re up for it?”

Glenn nodded.

“Then we head out in ten.”

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not run by my BETA so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own. All rights go to Robert Kirkman, Frank Darabont, and all others involved. Obviously I'm NOT involved.
> 
> Please review and let me know what you think. Helpful criticism and suggestions are always welcome! More to come soon…don’t worry, it won’t be as long of a wait as last time.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own. All rights go to Robert Kirkman, Frank Darabont, and all others involved.


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